Sleeves Stained Red
by Elerrina Star
Summary: "Lost creatures" Loki called them. But even the god of mischief can't see how lost they really are, or how deep their scars go. Serious angst ahead. Rated for some subject matter. Title from the song "Secrets" by OneRepublic.
1. Tony

A/N: And here we go again. I'm going to get everything into this a/n so that I don't have to do one at the beginning of each chapter so bear with me.

This is a series of six (rather short) one-shots. Each one is going to consist of a confession made by that chapter's character concerning themselves. None of them are happy, because what kind of soul-deep secret ever really is? Some of them get kind of dark, so there will be warnings at the beginning of each chapter for each individual 'shot.

I have all but Natasha's written (because that character kicks my ass, let me tell ya) and so each new one will be posted either every day or every other day, depending on how busy I am. Anyone with suggestions about the Black Widow 'shot will receive cookies and much love.

Warnings: Mild spoilers for Iron Man 2, angst.

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**Tony:**

I'm not a hero.

I know that's what the action figures and the tee-shirts with arc-reactor logos and the little kids running around with plastic masks would have you believe, but it's a lie.

I use to think I was. For a while I thought maybe I could be the kind of person my dad raved about when I was a kid. I knew I'd never be _Captain America_, that was never an option, but I thought maybe, just maybe, I could make up for all the blood my family had accumulated over the years.

It took me a while to realize that a suit can't wash away blood, it can't make me worth something. It doesn't cover the years of selfish pleasures, of blatantly undervaluing those who are worth so much more than I will ever be. Armor can't make up for the billions of lives that I helped to wipe off the earth with my weapons.

It doesn't make up for the fact that I keep on living while good men die.

I'm not the only one who knows it. Ask half of the people who know me and secretly they'll all tell you that I'm still hopeless. That no matter what I do or what I've done it's still not enough to make me worthy of a place among the _real _heroes.

Because even now when I'm part of this team, when I'm a member of something good that can finally help make up for all my mistakes, it's not even me they want. If it wasn't for the suit I'd just be another rich genius with an empty soul; the guy who builds weapons that help rip the world apart.

"_Iron Man- yes. Tony Stark- not recommended." _

At the time I made a joke out of it, but as I think about it now I decide that for once S.H.I.E.L.D. probably has it right.

Because as I sit here drowning my way through a bottle of scotch in an attempt to wash my guilty nightmares away I realize...

I wouldn't recommend me, either.


	2. Steve

_Warings: Possible OOCness, because depressed, lonely!Steve is way harder to write than positive, go-get-'em!Steve is. Sigh._

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**Steve:**

I don't belong here.

The team, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attempts to get me back into the world, all of that is supposed to make me feel differently - it's supposed to help give me a purpose. But at the end of the day I come home and beat the tar out of punching bags because no matter how hard I try I just don't _fit. _

This isn't my world.

Some days it isn't so bad. The team helps and for a little while I think maybe I've found my place. They're not exactly Bucky, or any of the guys from back home, yet somehow we manage to make it work.

But then I try to sleep only to wake up choking on water that isn't there while her voice whispers in my ear. And the team can't help, because no matter how lost they each might be themselves none of them have died only to outlive every person they ever loved.

I've never been one to give in, give up, quit, or enjoy self-pity. As Stark would say, 'it's not my _style_'. But as I send another bag flying across the gym I feel the throb in my hand match the rhythm of the much more painful one in my chest.

I just want it to stop.

The worst part is no matter what I do I can't change this. No matter how hard I fight I can't go back.

Sometimes I wish they'd just left me in the ice.


	3. Thor

_Warnings: Angst (obviously) and mild spoilers for Thor/The Avengers. Also, this has already been posted on Tumblr at the request of a friend, so in the off chance you've seen it before I swear didn't steal it. That said, happy Thorsday! ;)_

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**Thor:**

I still mourn the loss of my brother.

Even knowing that he lives I mourn him, for Loki was and is still lost - to me, to my family, to Asgard... to himself.

As children we played together, as men we fought beside one another. I thought him my comrade, I trusted him with my life.

In my pride I could not see the darkness that was slowly creeping up on him. On all of us. In my foolishness I failed to save him from shadows that were not all of his own making. I never imagined that one day he would fight not beside me but against me. I never dreamed that he would one day by both my brother and my foe.

I loved him. I still love him. No matter what he has done he is _still my_ _brother_. And while he must pay for the wrongs he has done, I pray by Odin that punishment need not come from my hand, for that will prove a task too heavy for me to bear.

My greatest wish is that he will see the evil of his ways, that he will remember that there _is_ good in him.

But every night I watch him slip into the void yet again. I see the shadows swallow him and I fear that he will never find absolution, that he will always be lost in that darkness. In every dream I see the pain and anger that shone in his eyes as he spoke of living in my shadow and I wonder... is there anything I could have done to save him from this path?

He has done much evil and killed many innocents, and yet in my heart I can only remember what he was and cannot bring myself to hate him. Every moment I wish only for his redemption.

And many nights I grieve in the fear that Loki, that _my brother_, will never come home.


	4. Clint

_Warnings: Spoilers for _The Avengers_ and angst. Also, can I just say that I love Clint Barton? My poor baby. He deserved so much more that the approximate 13 minutes of screen time he was given._

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**Clint:**

I can still feel him inside my head sometimes.

He's not really there and I know that, but there are moments when I feel like he's still around, whispering and ordering and urging me to kill. At the time he said that it would bring me peace. I can tell you, though, that this is _not_ peace.

Actually I'm not even sure I know what peace feels like.

When 'Tasha brought me back I couldn't really remember, I didn't _really_ want to know how many people I'd killed. She said it hadn't been my fault and as an assassin it shouldn't bother me anyway, right?

But it does. This does. And for some reason I can't seem to let it go.

The scary part is I remember all of it now. Everything I did while Loki was still inside my head. After we'd beaten him it didn't take long for the faces and names to start filtering in. Everyone tells me that it isn't my fault but I'm not so sure. I think part of me always knew what I was doing. Selvig did, at least a little, so why wouldn't I?

And that's the worst part of it. Because I know what I'm capable of. I know what I've done, how many people I've killed without batting an eye and I have to wonder...

How much of what I did was really because of Loki?

How much of it was actually just the darker side of _me_?


	5. Natasha

_Warnings: Angst, fan-made backstory, and possible OOCness. Sorry if she doesn't sound quite right, guys. Getting her "voice" right is still a WIP. Thank you SO much to everyone who gave suggestions. Those that I didn't use this time went into my "for future use" file and I appreciated them all more than you can guess. :)_

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**Natasha:**

I was fourteen when I successfully completed my first mission.

The target was low level, a no one. _Practice_. I didn't even know anything about him aside from his name, his face, and where he was hiding. It took me less than two hours to take him down and return to my superiors.

Years later I looked into him and discovered that he really was a no one, just a face they had picked out on the street for me to take out. A final test to prove that I was ready.

I passed with flying colors.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night because, of all the names, faces, voices that plague my dreams he's always the worst. The first red mark in my ledger, the eyes that I see every time I close my own, staring at me with fear and confusion as the life slowly drains away.

The target I was after before S.H.I.E.L.D found me looked almost exactly like him. That mission was the first I'd failed to complete in years. It was the reason I let Clint bring me in.

But no matter how many lives I save or choose not to take the nightmares don't stop. His face will always haunt me while his eyes demand to know _why_.

I'll never be able to forget him. I'll never forget any of them. I'll never be able to remove the stains they left behind.

And that's the worst part of the nightmares, of the memories. Because it means that Loki was right.

There really is no way to wipe out this much red.


	6. Bruce

_Warnings: This one is dark. Especially the end. Pretty much the entire 'T' rating stems from my poor Banner-baby here. Not a happy ending to my series, that's for sure._

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**Bruce:**

I still have the gun, you know.

Not to use, because thanks to the Other Guy I know that it won't change anything. He's always going to be inside just waiting to stop it if I try again. But still it's nice to have it, just in case.

Most days it's okay and I don't even think about it. This team thing is strange but... it helps. I don't always feel like I have to run away and hide anymore, from the world or from myself.

There are nights like this one, though, where I wake up from a nightmare and can't stop shaking because I kill them. All of them. One tiny slip in my control and I'm suddenly back to where I started, only now there's all this guilt because I killed the only people I know who are actually insane enough to trust me.

They think I've got him under control. The problem is that there are nights when I'm not so sure.

Sometimes I think the only one who's being controlled is me.

So I keep the gun even though it's useless. I hide it because none of them need to know how bad it gets but it's always there, tucked away in a secret corner just waiting for me to pull it out.

I keep it because someday one of my nightmares is going to be true, and when that happens I'm going to need something to hold on to.

When that happens maybe he'll finally just let the bullet through.


End file.
